


Where All the Veins Meet

by truebluemoon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Basically a Combination of Various Teen RomComs, Bullying, F/F, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love Polygon, No Mark Jefferson, Teenage Drama, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truebluemoon/pseuds/truebluemoon
Summary: Victoria and Rachel make a bet.





	Where All the Veins Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Wooaaah, I have no business starting up a new fic when I have so many to finish. But this was a concept that wouldn't let me be. Since I'm almost done with the updates to other fic, I decided to start this one off with a first chapter. This is going to be a little more light-hearted than some of my other fic, but it won't be without its angst. It'll just be a little more realistic as far as angst goes. After all, everyone in this fic is going to have their asshole moments.
> 
> (Also, before you ask, this isn't intended to be a poly fic. I respect poly fic, but that's not what I'm setting out to do with this particular project.)
> 
> Each chapter will be from a character's POV. So 1st chapter is Victoria's perspective.

Victoria likes to think she’s in control. She’s a Queen Bee. She’s an Alpha Wolf. Something cliche like that.

And, in the Blackwell cafeteria, she actually feels something close to it. Maybe, it’s not  _ true  _ power. After all, she can’t expel her classmates with a snap of her fingers. _ Can’t change the menu either _ , she considers with a grimace as she looks down at the sad-looking Ceasar salad on her tray. What she can do is lord over the room she’s given. Victoria Chase is a shift in the fabric of surrounding space and time, an increase of tension that makes the vulnerable sit on the edge of their piss-stained seats. With a mere glance, she can make someone shudder, flinch, cry, or whatever else their fear response could be.

 

What was it Machiavelli said ab-

“Ack!” Victoria experiences more than sees Max Caulfield crash into her, the marinara sauce on the pasta spilling out onto Victoria’s carefully chosen ensemble. Not just that, but she interrupted her inner monologue!

  
“Watch it, Maxipad,” Victoria snarls.

It seems Max’s fear response is that familiar doe-eyed, slack-jawed expression she always has in class. “Shit!” Followed by an expletive, of course.

“Articulate as always,” Victoria retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ugh. You do realize this dress costs more than a year’s tuition here, right? Definitely worth more than however much your lame shit goes for on Deviantart.”

“I’m sorry,” Max begins, and she’s off to a good start. “ _ That _ costs thousands of dollars? I’d feel terrible if I wasted that much money.”

The nerve of some people! This is a Calvin Klein original. Anyone who knows anyone worth knowing would do anything to get their hands on it. Then again, it’s probably wasted on Blackwell. She bets these morons wouldn’t recognize style if it hit them square in the face. And the longer this goes on, the more she’s considering testing that theory. 

Preferably with someone else’s fists. Maybe an ex-mobster. Ha! How pretty would Max Caulfield’s face be _ then _ , once it’s painted black and blue?

“You already did, judging from that shitty polaroid camera you cart around,” Victoria snaps back, arms still crossed. 

Max’s eyes dilate. She notes the way the highlights of her blue irises distort in turn. “You _ would _ look down on classic photography.” Max gestures vaguely to her. “You might have a sweet setup, but it’s just like you, pricey and  _ empty _ .” 

As Max storms off, Victoria flashes Courtney and Taylor a mere look, and, suddenly, they’re running to get her some napkins. “Could have saved some trouble and gotten them  _ sooner _ ,” Victoria grumbles under her breath. The marinara is probably already starting to stain because of their laziness. That loser is going to rue the day she pissed off Victoria Chase.

 

“Ah, but then they’d miss the show,” injects a familiar purr. No, not an actual purr, but Rachel Amber loves smoothing out her voice. It’s probably to make herself sound older, wiser, more experienced. Not that she needs any help with that. 

“Didn’t you graduate?” Victoria turns to her, “How did they even let you on-campus?” That, just like everything involving Rachel Amber, is a mystery.

“I could tell you,” Rachel smirks, lowering her volume, “but then I’d have to kill you, and it’d be a shame to mar such a pretty neck.” She punctuates that with a wink. Then, she continues. “Speaking of pretty necks, you really have it in for Max.”

Victoria raises a brow. Rachel is the closest to celebrity-material around here, having starred in every school play and won every local debate tournament (supposedly even getting a modeling agent, if the rumors aren’t just rumors), so it’s surprising she wastes her time with high schoolers. She’s nineteen fucking years old. It’s pathetic and sad and pathetically sad. But more than anything, she’s wondering, “How do you know Max?” 

 

It’s not like Max is anything special, just another of the twee, self-important artists that managed to get into Blackwell by the skin of their teeth. Sure, she’s got a great eye for shots, but she’s so insecure she’d slap about fifty filters over them and call it a day. Max Caulfield doesn’t change or grow or even backtrack in technique. She won’t even go to the half-dozen visual art clubs this place has. As far as Victoria can tell, she’s gone about as far as she’s willing to go.

Not exactly Rachel’s type.   

“Oh, let’s just say we have a mutual friend,” she says as she leans against the cafeteria table. She always manages to look comfortable, no matter the pose or setting.

“Uh-huh.” Rachel seems to have a lot of mutual friends. “So what? Are you going to pull your do-gooder routine here?” Victoria props a hand on her now tilted hip. 

Rachel flutters her long eyelashes in false innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“The whole anti-bullying PSA bullshit?” She clasps her hands and does her best imitation. “Oh,  _ Victoria _ , you’re better than this! She’s not  _ worth _ your time, anyways!” She reminds her, tilting her head down as she lowers her hands. Thankfully, despite being younger, puberty did her height a favor, so she towers a good couple inches above the meddling model-wannabe.

“Come on,” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes following Max’s path to an empty table in the corner. “I think she has enough problems on her plate without you adding another helping.” 

Just then, Taylor and Courtney return with probably the entire supply of the cafeteria’s paper napkins. They surround her on both sides, wiping at the stains on her now ruined dress like it’ll do anything. “I’m like so, so sorry we took so long-” “Oh-em-gee, you would not believe-” “They wouldn’t let us take the towels-” “And they, like, kept asking us-” “To stop stealing the napkins-” “But you come first!” Completely useless.

Not able to hear herself think over their chatter, she finally snaps her fingers. “ _ Enough _ .”

And Rachel looks like she’s about to tip over laughing. 

Meanwhile, Victoria is feeling like tipping over the table. “Don’t you dimwits see I’m speaking to Rachel here?”

Immediately, they stop and straighten their posture. If they were any more worshipful, they’d be bowing.

“Oh, hi, Rachel!” Taylor giggles, the way she does when she’s nervous.

“I love your shirt,” Courtney adds, pointing to Rachel’s ratty band T-shirt that she manages to make chic. Somehow. 

“Hey, gals,” Rachel greets with that cat-like grin. “Court, if you want I could get you one? I have a few extras at home, if you have some cash on you. I’ll even give you a discount.”

As Courtney opens her mouth, Victoria waves them away, dismissing them. “You’ll thank me later.” They walk off, obediently even if in reluctance. She turns her attention back to Rachel. “I heard about the counterfeit sports memorabilia you sold to Logan. You’re lucky he’s an asshole.” No one believes an asshole.

“These are some serious accusations, Vic,” Rachel purred, that smile never once leaving her face. “Besides, if I’m not mistaken, we were talking about you and Max, not my renegade lifestyle.”

“What’s there to talk about?” She gestures toward the table Max is sitting at. “She’s one of those oh-so-sensitive hipsters, as if Blackwell ever had a shortage. She has a fugly hoodie and unfunny ironic T-shirt for every day ending in “-y.” Obsesses over the sanctity of her so-called “art” all while having absolutely no taste. Probably watches those cheap movie tie-ins to video games and argues furiously on reddit that they’re any deeper than rain puddles.” Victoria then gestures to her own table. “Oh, and she never dates anybody, since nobody wants to date some lame Leibovitz knock-off who can only talk about her shitty selfies.”

“Wow,” Rachel manages, her mouth practically in an O-shape. A shocked Rachel is kind of like a huge hurricane hitting your town. You know it could technically happen, but, when it shows up, it’s still as bizarre as all get out. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Her expression soon transitions back into that familiar confidence. “But how do you know that she’s single because people around here don’t want to date her?” Her hand splays out against the air, as if showing her a whole new world. Victoria half-expects her to cough up a magic carpet. “Maybe, just maybe, it’s the other way around.”

“So you’re saying she doesn’t date us because she doesn’t want to?” Victoria watches Rachel answer with a casual shrug, before peering over at Max again. Victoria never considered that before. “Like she’s too good for the likes of us! Isn’t that just precious? The loser virgin thinks she has the luxury to pick and choose.”

“Well,” Rachel cocks her head to the side, “that  _ is _ how dating works. Unless I’ve entered some strange alternate universe.” 

But Victoria’s mind is still stuck on Max and how her being single manages to look both pathetic and pretentious at the same time.

“Someone should teach Little Miss High-And-Mighty a lesson, like in the movies,” Victoria mutters. “I’d pay good money to see her  _ boo _ -hoo about how dating is _ too _ much for her little, wittle heart.”

 

“Really?” She says, and Victoria half-expects her to admonish her. “You’d pay that much for a mean-spirited prank?” 

“Nathan or Logan would probably be up for it,” and, now that she’s thinking about it, Nathan  _ does _ owe her a favor after she covered for him the night he was supposed to host the annual Prescott auction. And Logan is dumb enough to be talked into anything, given the right bait.

Then, Rachel leans down, placing herself right below Victoria’s face. She’s almost lying on the table, if not for the forearm holding her up. “I bet _ I  _ could get her to fall for me before the end of the semester.”

“You? All due respect, you barely know her,” Victoria rolls her eyes. “I could ghostwrite the Max Caulfield memoirs.”

“You could, huh?” Rachel rubs at her chin deviously. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

“Fifty bucks,” Victoria offers, “I’ll have her begging for a date with me.”

“Oh come on? Just a date? I can do better than that.” Rachel smirks, fingers still at her chin. “Eighty for who first gets her kiss.”

Oh, it’s on.

“Twice that for her virginity,” Victoria jabs a finger at Rachel’s face. “Deal?” She offers her a hand.

And Rachel takes Victoria’s hand with her own. “Make it thrice, and it’s a deal!” So, they shake on it.

 

Victoria starts to suspect she has no idea what she's getting herself into (and she'd be right).


End file.
